A Wise Child

by A Wise Child (retail) (epub)

  ‘I can’t believe this time has really come,’ Roz whispered, snuggling into his arm, and Tom pressed her closer, giving her a quick kiss.

  Nellie and Gwen were waiting with the table set for tea but first Nellie gave Tom a letter with a London postmark.

  ‘This came last week, son,’ she said, ‘but I thought it might miss you if I sent it on.’

  Tom scarcely heard her. He was looking unbelievingly at the letter then he gave a loud shout of, ‘Whoopee!’ and picked up his mother and swung her round.

  ‘He’s taken it. He wants to see me,’ he shouted, seizing Roz and kissing her. He waved the letter. ‘He says it’s “eminently publishable”.’

  There was an excited chorus of congratulations from the women and Roz looked at the letter. ‘I think you should go to London, Tom,’ she said. ‘We’ve got three days before the wedding.’ She stopped, putting her fingers to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said to Nellie. ‘You’ll want him here for those three days.’

  ‘No, I think he should go,’ Nellie said.

  It was quickly decided that Tom would telephone the publisher and arrange to see him. Roz went with him to the station and they bought the wedding ring on the way and she said firmly that she would deal with everything else.

  The publisher was an urbane portly man, too sophisticated to show his surprise at Tom’s youth and the fact that he was in uniform. He took him to lunch and Tom mentally thanked Miss Helsby for the training which made him able to feel at ease among the wealthy club men and to speak with confidence.

  The publisher probed gently. ‘Where do you hail from originally, my boy?’ he asked.

  Tom found that he was offended by the patronising ‘my boy’ and he said crisply, ‘I was born and brought up in Bootle, which is close to Liverpool.’

  ‘But you were sent away to school?’

  ‘No,’ Tom said. ‘I had excellent teachers,’ and one of them was my mother, he thought, who knows how to keep her own counsel, so you can stop digging, mate.

  Aloud he said with a smile, ‘I take it that this is your club?’

  The publisher accepted the warning signal and chatted about the war until coffee was brought when he told Tom that he was very impressed by the book.

  ‘A study in depth of the mind of an adolescent boy,’ he said. ‘And an almost lyrical quality in the prose.’

  He offered a two-hundred-pound advance against royalties and said that he would have the contract drawn up and sent to Tom for his signature.

  Tom hastily revised his opinion of the man and all the way home on the train the wheels seemed to be beating out the phrase, ‘An almost lyrical quality in the prose,’ with the thought of two hundred pounds’ advance as a backdrop.

  Nellie and Gwen were excited and incredulous when he told them the offer but Roz understood that his pleasure in the fact of publication and the phrases the publisher had used outweighed even the money.

  Tom explained that the two hundred pounds was an advance against royalties, which were ten per cent of the price of the book. ‘So I won’t get any more until the book has earned more than two thousand pounds,’ he said with a blasé air.

  ‘Good God,’ Nellie said faintly and Roz asked what the publisher was like.

  ‘A bit pompous and patronising I thought until he made the offer, then I thought he was smashing,’ Tom said, laughing.

  He felt as though he was moving through a happy dream as they made the final preparations for the wedding, with the thought of his book always in his mind.

  Roz was staying with Jean for the few days before the wedding and Bob got a seventy-two-hour pass to act as best man for Tom. Winnie was Roz’s bridesmaid.

  The wedding day was bright and sunny and Roz looked radiant in a white silk wedding dress with a small train which her grandmother had made. Nellie’s heart was full as she looked at her son’s soldierly bearing as he stood beside his pretty little bride. And he’s as good as he’s smart and handsome, she thought, remembering the fortune teller’s words that her son would cleave to her.

  And he has. He’s been a good son but it’s time now for him to cleave to Roz, she thought, but I’ll never lose him completely. We’ve been through too much together.

  Nellie and Gwen made a wedding breakfast in the big front room which had been the cafe and after it Gwen drew Tom aside.

  ‘Listen, Tom, I’m no limpet, you know. Your mum was very good to take me in but I’ve had a breathing space now and I’m looking for somewhere to live.’

  ‘But you and Mum get on so well,’ Tom protested.

  ‘Yes, and I want it to stay that way,’ Gwen said firmly. ‘I’ve talked to a counsellor and he said they help people who are bombed out to get a few things round them when they find somewhere to live. I’m not bothered about anything posh. It’s only for myself so it’s only necessities.’

  ‘But Mum enjoys having you here, honestly,’ Tom said. ‘And Roz and I like to think you’re together.’

  ‘Your mum’s a heart of gold but I’m not taking advantage of her,’ Gwen said. ‘You see, lad, it’ll all come right.’

  Tom hurriedly told his mother when they were alone together but she only said calmly, ‘Gwen’s very independent, Tom, and I can understand that. It’ll probably be a while before she can find anything but don’t worry, lad. We’ll always be good friends, me and Gwen. You and Roz just go off and enjoy yourselves. Don’t worry about us.’

  He told Roz when they were in the train to Shropshire where they were spending their honeymoon and she agreed with his mother. Tom felt like an experienced married man as he thought, women! They’ve got their own ways. Might as well let them get on with it.

  They spent a blissful week in a secluded farmhouse near Wem, munching apples or pears from the trees as they wandered through the leafy lanes filled with the scent of honeysuckle.

  Then back to a farmhouse tea of thick slices of ham and eggs, and home-made bread and butter, and quiet evenings just sitting talking beside the wood fire in the cosy little sitting room.

  To bed in the scented darkness of the little room with its uneven floor and ceiling and the plump feather mattress and eiderdown smelling of lavender.

  They came together naturally and happily, both ready and eager to be one. On the first night a feather worked through the pillow to cause Tom a tremendous fit of sneezing but they laughed about it as they laughed about so many things during that week.

  In later years Roz would often say, ‘Remember how we laughed that week?’

  Tom would always say, ‘I suppose it was because we were so happy, love.’

  Just once Tom was touched with sadness as he thought of his mother and father. Had they known happiness like this? he wondered. Of course not as much. He thought no one had ever been as happy as he and Roz were, but happy. How hard it must have been to be parted.

  He said something of this to Roz but she said sturdily, ‘Your dad will come back some day, Tom. I’m sure.’

  ‘He’s been gone a long time,’ Tom said doubtfully.

  ‘Your mum believes he’ll come back,’ Roz said. ‘And not just because of that fortune teller. I think she feels it instinctively.’

  ‘Well, at least the hope keeps her happy,’ Tom said.

  The week went too quickly. The farmer and his wife had made much of them, always piling their plates and urging them to eat and to take what fruit they wanted.

  On the day that they left the farmer’s wife gave them a bag of apples and pears then took Roz into the barn. ‘Just a few eggs for mister’s breakfast,’ she whispered then produced a parcel sewn into a piece of tarpaulin.

  ‘Not to let anyone see,’ she said. She was a plump Welshwoman from over the border and Roz found it hard to stifle a giggle as she said in her sing-song voice, ‘Not allowed to kill a sheep, are we, but this poor little lamb. Fell under a tractor, poor little thing.’

  Roz managed to restrain herself until they were away from the farm but when she told Tom the tale of the
mysterious parcel they were both helpless with laughter, rolling from side to side of the lane as they repeated, ‘Fell under a tractor.’

  It became a family catchphrase, used during the war whenever a packet of cigarettes was produced from ‘under the counter’ for Tom, or Roz queued for scented soap, and in later years for any small self-indulgence. The phrase could always provoke a laugh and happy memories for Tom and Roz.

  They had only one night left to spend at home but they came back to exciting news. Winnie had joined her sister Cathy working in the Royal Ordnance factory and both girls were engaged. Cathy’s fiancé, who worked with her, shared a house with his married sister who was now moving permanently to Scotland.

  They had decided to marry immediately and Winnie’s soldier fiancé was coming home on embarkation leave so there would be a double wedding.

  ‘They say one wedding makes another and there’s proof,’ Gwen announced.

  The couples were to share the house in Litherland, leaving the flat free. They had suggested that Gwen might like it, but she said that she had the promise of a room over a chemist shop which would suit her perfectly and she thought Roz and Tom should have the flat.

  ‘It could be here for you when you come on leave,’ Nellie said, ‘If you want it. But you know you’re welcome here if you don’t.’

  ‘It’ll be great, Mum,’ Tom exclaimed. ‘It’ll be our own place yet we’ll be here with you.’

  Roz was just as enthusiastic and later Winnie took them up to look round the flat.

  ‘We’ll be gone by the time you are home again,’ she said.

  Tom was almost as excited about the large envelope waiting for him, containing the contract for him to sign.

  ‘The note says I’m to sign both copies, send one back and keep the other for my files. My files! That’ll be the day.’

  ‘That day will come, son, you see,’ Nellie said. ‘Didn’t Prudence say there would be money and success for you?’

  ‘I thought that was for you with the cafe?’ Tom said but Nellie said firmly that it was for him.

  ‘That fortune teller has been a great comfort to Mum,’ Tom said laughingly to Roz later. ‘She looks at that bit of paper and twists it to fit everything that happens.’

  ‘Well, I think she’s right that your dad will come back,’ Roz said. ‘And that’s been a comfort for your mum.’

  ‘If only,’ Tom sighed. ‘It would make everything perfect.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Canadian Fall was at its most beautiful as Sam and Chancer wandered along enjoying the crisp air and the brilliant colours of the leaves.

  ‘Might as well make the most of it,’ Chancer said, ‘and stay put when the weather breaks.’

  ‘I think you really meant that about the rocking chair,’ Sam said with a grin.

  They did odd jobs to provide food and a bed if they needed it but at a large sawmill they worked for a week to accumulate some dollars.

  ‘Looks like we’re getting near a town,’ Chancer said. ‘Better have a stake until we find something there.’

  They rarely explained any action, content to drift along in complete accord, taking each day as it came, but without realising it their outlook had changed and they were each unconsciously making plans.

  They always carried soap and towels and there was no shortage of pools in which to bathe and wash their clothes. They cut each other’s hair in a rough and ready fashion but when they reached the small township they found a barber’s shop on the edge of town and decided to have a haircut and shave before looking for work and a bed.

  ‘You look a bit like the Wild Man from Borneo, Sam,’ Chancer said.

  The barber joked, ‘Sheep shearing’s over, Bud,’ when he saw Sam’s mass of thick dark curly hair.

  The barber worked alone except for a lather boy and there were no other customers but Chancer sat near Sam talking as he waited his turn.

  ‘He’s got ears under that. Be careful,’ he joked.

  The barber, who told them his name was Gus, said, ‘I know. I’ve just found one. I didn’t put that nick in it either. I reckon you were born with that, Bud.’

  ‘I think I was,’ Sam said. ‘It’s always been there far as I can remember.’

  ‘Now that,’ Gus said, pointing at Chancer’s scar. ‘I reckon you got that with one of these.’

  He pointed to an open cut-throat razor and Chancer said, ‘You’re right. A fella was running amok with it and I got in the way.’

  ‘I can always tell,’ Gus said proudly. ‘You show me a scar and I can tell you what it was done with.’

  He finished Sam’s haircut and said he would cut Chancer’s hair next then the lad could lather them for a shave. As he cut Chancer’s hair he commented again on the scar.

  ‘You could get that fixed, you know,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a clever young doctor in town. It was badly stitched but he could just make a little cut here and put one or two stitches in. Wouldn’t get rid of the scar but it’d stop it pulling your eye down like that.’

  Sam thought Chancer might resent the comments on his scar but he only said, ‘I might consult him some time.’

  It was only after they had both been shaved and were ready to go, when the barber said, ‘Now, gents, you both look better than when you came in,’ that Chancer said sarcastically, ‘We feel better too. Less aware of our disfigurements.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Gus said cheerfully. ‘Now, if you’re looking for jobs, see that baker’s shop down there? He’s looking for help and he lets rooms over the shop. I happen to know they’re empty. And if you carry on down there there’s a corn chandler wanting help and a repair shop further on.’

  As they walked away they looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘He should have a notice up,’ Sam said. ‘“If you can’t get insulted here go where you can.”’

  ‘He was only trying to help, I suppose,’ Chancer said. ‘It’s handy to know about the jobs and the rooms.’

  Sam had never mentioned the scar but now he said, ‘He must have a professional interest in scars because that one of yours isn’t noticeable now. It was when I first met you but I suppose it was new.’

  Chancer agreed. ‘Yes, I got it when the Prof got the bullet. Fella was going for him with a razor and I tried to grab the fella’s arm. He’d already cut two others so the cops came in with guns blazing and the wrong man got the bullet.’

  ‘Hard luck,’ was all Sam said but he knew how bitter Chancer felt about the episode.

  They decided that Chancer, who had worked in a bakery for a spell, would try for the baker’s job and Sam would try the repair shop.

  Gus had told them that the baker was a widower with one daughter and his wife had been a Dutch woman. Only the girl was in the shop when they went in, a large blonde girl, unmistakeably Dutch in appearance.

  Chancer told her that the barber had told them there was a job going and before she could answer a small dark man came through from the back.

  ‘Any experience?’ he asked.

  ‘I worked in a bakery in Toronto for a spell,’ Chancer said. ‘Just bread, nothing else.’

  ‘That’s what I want,’ the man said and Chancer asked about rooms. ‘We travel light. We’ve been wandering but we’re clean and honest,’ he said.

  He pulled out some money but the man said, ‘Go and see the rooms first. Trudie’ll take you. I’m Henry Dinsdale. This is my daughter Gertrude, Trudie for short.’

  ‘I’m William Westwood Talbot and this is my friend Samuel Meadows,’ Chancer said formally. They all shook hands and Chancer said, ‘We aim to stay here for the winter if we can find jobs and rooms.’

  The girl took them upstairs. The rooms were plainly furnished but spotlessly clean and a glance between Sam and Chancer was enough.

  ‘We’ll take them,’ Chancer said and put his hand in his pocket.

  ‘Leave it to the end of the week,’ the baker said easily.

  Chancer went out with Sam to walk d
own to the repair shop and as they walked Sam said curiously, ‘You gave your real name there. You don’t often do that.’

  Chancer shrugged. ‘He seemed a straight sort of fellow,’ he said. ‘Trusted us too. I liked that.’

  Sam liked working with anything mechanical and he was taken on immediately at the repair shop.

  ‘Mostly farm machinery but we mend anything,’ the owner said. He held out his hand. ‘Joe Eddy,’ he said.

  ‘Sam Meadows and this is William Talbot,’ Sam said.

  ‘I’ve just got a job at the bakery,’ Chancer said. ‘And we’ve taken the rooms over it.’

  ‘Henk’s?’ Joe said. ‘That’s what his wife called him. Died a few years ago but Trudie’s a good help to him. Fella who worked there, had the rooms, cleared off a few weeks ago. Henk’ll be glad to have you.’

  Sam had wandered over to a broken machine and was studying it and when they left he said, ‘I’ll enjoy that job but by God they can all talk, can’t they?’

  ‘I’m not backward in that myself,’ Chancer said with laugh. ‘It’s just new faces, I suppose.’

  They soon settled down in the little town, which they discovered was called Petersfield. They both liked their jobs and their employers and were very comfortable in the rooms over the bakery.

  ‘I’d never get tired of the smell of bread baking and the bakery keeps these rooms warm,’ Chancer said. They did their own cooking and cleaning but gradually Trudie took over these tasks.

  At first she went to the weekly cinema with both of them, but when Sam realised how things were between her and Chancer he made the excuse of urgent work to go back to the shop.

  On the road no one ever asked about a man’s past and Henk showed the same reticence but after returning from the cinema one night Chancer asked to talk to him. He told him that he and Trudie wanted to marry and admitted that he had little to offer but he would always ensure that Trudie had a comfortable life.

  He produced a few documents wrapped in oil silk, his birth certificate, a few character references from many years ago and the address of his father’s solicitors. He had already told Henk that he and Sam had met in a reformatory so that they had known each other a long time. ‘He was there for stealing a pot of jam,’ he said. ‘And I was there because my father didn’t want me.’